


The Journal that Jack Built

by UzbekistanRules



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: BDSM, Diary/Journal, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Violence, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-07-29 22:02:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7701397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UzbekistanRules/pseuds/UzbekistanRules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During his days as Jack, Soldier: 76 had kept a journal. Some habits die hard. </p><p>During his days as Solider: 76, Jack had a lead on a Talon member who seems to know the most about the fall of Overwatch. He had to know the truth.</p><p>This is a story about a soldier and reaper, intermingling and weaving in dangerous ways.</p><p>
  <b>THIS IS AN ORPHANED FIC. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. July 15, 2076

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be dark. This is going to be really dark. Gabriel is going to be an asshole and Jack is going to be manipulated into falling for him.
> 
> Allow me to say this now: THE AUTHOR DOES NOT CONDONE THESE ACTIONS. As I said: Gabriel is going to be an asshole in this. He's going to try and break Jack down. Is he going to succeed? Who knows.

When I caught up to the man- the monster of Talon known as Reaper- it was outside of Detroit. Or rather... it would be more accurate to say he caught up to me.

My informants pegged his safe house as an abandoned warehouse, housing things for at least a dozen different companies before finally having its doors shut and promptly re-opened by clever omnics and humans looking to get out of the rain. I had watched it for three days before hand. There had been signs of life, but it they had been hard to find in the first place. Fine. I decided to test my luck. An outdoor sweep of the place and then I entered from an often forgotten side door.

I knew I had been careful. I was always careful. Where I set my shoes, what readouts the visor was giving me, where the muzzle of the pulse rifle was in the air. I had been on full alert from the second I had entered that room. 

Even looking back on it, I still don’t understand how the hell he wound up behind me. All I can say that it’s unnerving. Man moves like a goddamned shadow or something.

What I have to assume was a boot kicked the back of my left thigh, sending pain through me, both of the recent pain and past trauma. I was forced down on one knee as the amber in my visor turned red. It very unhelpfully alerted me that an enemy was on my six. [Note: need to figure out a way to disable stupid red arrow on visor. Just a small dot would do instead of a big, bulky arrow.]

“Drop it,” he said. What struck me the most was the way his voice came out. I had expected something along the lines of my own: gruff and grating. His was almost demonic, smooth and electronic sounding. I wondered then as I do now if he’s had to be scraped up from a battlefield somewhere. Probably multiple battlefields. He has to be at least part omnic himself.

I dropped my rifle. What else could I do? I had to wait for an opening. It would be difficult to do so when my brains are out of my skull. I was enhanced. I’m not Superman. I couldn’t take bullets that close without serious injury. What I would have given for someone else backing me up. Oxford. Wilhelm. Hell, even a turret from Lindholt or a well placed pistol round from Zigler would have served me. Something to give me a damn distraction. Amari would have been a god-send, but she’s dead. Too many of them are dead. And all of those who are left, everyone thinks I’m dead.

The shotgun moved away from my head. I struck then. My elbow shoved itself backward, into something hard. It hurt, but probably not as much as the Reaper had to have been hurting then. I don’t quite remember what happened next- an educated guess forces me to think that he gave me a minor concussion doing something- but I found my arms up behind me, tied together with something. My right ear was ringing from an apparent shotgun blast. And half of my clothing had been ripped off.

I struggled against the cord that had me trapped, but it did little good. If anything, my struggles made the cord press even tighter against my biceps and wrists. I couldn’t find the necessary leverage I needed. I wonder now how he managed to do something like tie me up in the space that I was out. I couldn’t have been out for more than a few seconds, though I can concede that I might have been out for a minute. Still, it should have been easy to find purchase. It wasn’t. How did he know though? I have to wonder.

Reaper was already between my thighs, already half naked. I knew what was coming. I just couldn’t stop it.

We fucked. There was no finesse, tenderness or communication between the two of us. As a matter of fact, I was very vocal about my displeasure at the situation. Of course he ignored my protests in order to sate his lust. He said nothing and after a while, even my own voice fell silent. 

He left me there, like that. At least he didn’t try to take off my mask. Small blessings. But the cops nearly caught me like that. Have to be more careful next time. As for how I got out, I had to bribe a kid to at least cut the rope. Most was unusable, but I managed to salvage what was left. Waste not, want not.

Note to self: buy more pants.


	2. July 29, 2076

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **THIS IS NOW AN ORPHANED FIC.** I have lost motivation to finish this, however I hate leaving people in the dark. This chapter will be what I had already written. Chapter 3 will deal with the outline that I had written for chapters 3-5. If you want to pick this up then by all means please do so!

Colorado is lovely. I had forgotten just how lovely it was. The woods are massive, and the shade keeps me cool. Well- cooler. The sun is brutal in July and it’ll only get worse in August, I know. I almost want to hope for September but each month that I don’t have to deal with winter can leave me preparing for winter. For now though, it’s a distant dread and an even more distant trek down to warmer climes. I do wonder if I could possibly find myself a boat to get to an island for the winter. Cuba. Puerto Rico. I know enough Spanish to get by as a tourist. A few Hawaiian shirts and some concealer for the scars should be enough to allow me to pass as a regular tourist.  
I’m rambling however. Back to my original reason to write in this journal again. The real reason, and not to praise Colorado’s forest, great as they are. I caught up to Reaper. And this time, the asshole didn’t catch me off guard. As a matter of fact, I caught him off guard for once.  
I had found him doing- of all things- sleeping. Surprise, surprise. Even ghosts have to sleep from time to time. I didn’t think that was possible, but there we go. The only thing I could really think of doing at the time was paying like unto like. As soon as I started approaching him, he woke up. Tried to get away too, but by then it was too late. The butt of my rifle conveniently found itself right where the top of his skull would have gone had he completed his flight. As it was, he found himself concussed. Just enough for me to tie him down in kind.  
I didn’t have rope like he did. Besides, I think anything that I did with rope would wind up burnt and I wanted him to struggle with it just as much as I did. Bailing wire would do the trick nicely. My time in the Boy Scouts- and subsequently the US Army, followed by a stay at Overwatch- meant that I was pretty up to date on all of the knots I needed to tie this son-of-a-bitch down. And once you start riding the knot-tying bike, it was pretty easy to remember what needed to go where.  
The Reaper woke, shaking his head and probably looking dazed under the stupid mask. He had soon found himself struggling against a tree trunk, half sprawled out while his arms were above his head. I had made sure to pay extra attention to his fingers. I didn’t want him summoning any shotguns while he was helpless like this. Hell, even those claws could cause serious damage if I wasn’t careful. I am careful, however. At least... I try to be.  
“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” That I remembered saying clearly. I had been really angry with him for getting the drop on me. I wanted him to hurt. So... that’s exactly what I did. I made him hurt.  
First, I got all of his clothes out of the way. Because, why not. He had ruined most of my things, why not wreck his own possessions? I didn’t care. I still don’t care. It felt good to do. Cathartic, really. An eye for an eye. Angela would have quipped right back with ‘makes the whole world blind.’ But she wasn’t here right now. She would never be here right now. She wouldn’t ever help me again. That was fine though. I had made my choice to forego the help that she represented the day that I put on this mask.  
The Reaper growled something at me. I can’t remember what, but was rude. I shoved my fist into his gut. He would have doubled over had he had the room to do so. Instead he just wheezed. I had wondered idly at the time how many others had gotten this close to him in the past. Probably not many. And it would be a sure bet that none of them lived to tell the tale.  
His skin was... dark. Not tan-dark but Latino dark. Darker than that, nearly black. Nearly as black as his clothing, though it also seemed... sickened. Sickening. As if staring at it, touching it too long would give me a disease I’d rather not contract. Zika, H1N1, Ebola. The Plague. His dick was nothing special. I’ve seen better and I’ve seen worse. The Army got rid of the body shyness I used to have really fucking fast. There was no need for it, especially with co-ed... everything really. Showers, bathrooms, locker rooms. In the Army, you aren’t a person. You’re a soldier, and the others around you are soldiers. Some might have different bits than you, but that didn’t mean shit.  
I’m rambling again. I’ve been doing that too much of late. Damnit. Note to self: Stop rambling, you idiot.  
Anyway- The Reaper was fucking pissed, but I did like the way he looked tied down like that. The visor took a silent picture and saved it to a personal folder I had set up. It had taken all but a second but my prisoner was thrashing like a wounded animal. Time to stop that.  
My gloved hands hold on to his thighs. I was surprised about how well defined they were. He either did a lot of walking or he took really good care of them. Reyes would have approved, I think. Reyes liked people who took care of their legs. No idea why though. Then again, he always had been weird about shit like that.  
“Nothing to say?” I asked him. “Nothing to do? I know about your power, how you can turn into a cloud of smoke and get out of this. I’m surprised you aren’t spitting out curses now.”  
“Usted a la mierda, pan blanco.” [I believe I am remembering that correctly. I never got the chance to really learn Spanish, though Reyes and McCree used to banter in it all the time. I picked up a few words here and there, mostly curse words.]  
“Kiss your mother with that mouth?” All right. I’ll admit it. I was having fun. It was nice not to play the good guy schtick for once. Even as a vigilante, I’m still the good guy. I only allow myself to cut loose with guys like him. Talon. Los Muertos. Vishkar thugs. Scum, not worthy to even see the light of day. Doing this is a kindness to the world.  
It took him a while before he slurred at me. “Gilipollas.” I knew it was a concussion. He’s been too delayed in all of his responses, and he’s probably at the edge of vomiting. I do have to wonder if he’s speaking Spanish to fuck with me, or if he honestly just doesn’t remember how to speak English. I know he can speak English just fine, damnit.  
Focus. Dawdling again on what happened.  
I reached into the cargo pouch on my left thigh and pulled out a small bottle. The water based lube wasn’t a brand I prefered, but it was a sample bottle and they were handing them out for free on a college campus in Illinois. Condoms too. Again, not my brand but my size, which was enough. Not that I needed either. My body flushed out STDs before they could do any serious damage. No... this was a way to make this as impersonal as possible. Condom, lube. Don’t prep him. Punch him again and smirk under the faceplate as he actually does throw up on himself through the mask. What looks to be the remnants of an MRE and some sort of tortilla based food splash on his chest, dribble down to his stomach and sides. It isn’t my cup of tea though. Seeing him humiliated is enough for me though. I can hear the snarl in the back of his throat, but it’s weak due to the bile and the concussion both.  
I push myself inside, forcing his asshole open. He gasps as I move in, groaning as I move out. It’s a pleasant sound. Music to my ears. I smirked behind my own mask as I violate him as thoroughly as he violated me some weeks back. It’s good to unwind like this some days. The thrusting, the slap of flesh against flesh, the grunts and groans I managed to elicit from him.


	3. Summary of the next five chapters

Chapter 3 dealt with Jack's feelings after Chapters 1 and 2. He would come to grips with himself, wrestle with thoughts. Toxic masculinity would be a bitch, rear it's ugly head, make him think he was weak for liking to take dick and nearly get raped instead of taking and raping himself. He fights with himself, long rambling speech as he continues to trek through America in search of more clues of Overwatch's downfall and dissolution. Basically angst and filler. In the end he decides it really doesn't matter because those who would care are dead and those that aren't don't. Or wouldn't, if they actually knew if Jack was still alive.

Chapter 4 dealt with Reaper coming back, taking what was his. This would be a change in who wrote in the journal as Reaper took him and broke him for his personal use. It would take place over the course of a few months, weaving in and out of each other's lives. There would also be little side notes scattered here and there of missions he, Widowmaker and Sombra actually undertook but mostly they wold be footnotes for what in the hell he was doing to Jack and why. Porn. Lots of porn. Jack nearly gets completely mind broken but something stops it from happening. What Reaper isn't sure.

Chapter 5 dealt with Reaper trying and failing to break 76 down. What in the hell has gotten into him, he has no idea but this would be the time where they would both be unmasked. Ana and Angela would probably come in and rescue Jack from his own folly. Journal change again as it's either Ana or Angela writing in it. Lots of comfort here. Lots of cuddling. Lots of mushy feelings.


End file.
